Passion on a 'Plate
by Quillon42
Summary: One starved stalker of mutant bone marrow stumbles upon an Ohioan home, and finds what seems to be a feast...yet, as he soon discovers to his dismay, the particular Horsewoman he's encountered won't let him feed without a very particular fee.


PASSION ON A 'PLATE (OR, THE PASSION OF THE 'PLATE)

By Quillon42

SOMETIME IN 2010 AFTER THE EVENTS OF _X-MEN LEGACY: EMPLATE_

Fatigue was setting in for the gaunt and gasmasky ghoul known as Emplate. His frail frame shook, and the lips embedded in his palms quivered with longing. If the craving, craven creature didn't find another morsel to assimilate into his system soon, he would be summarily shunted back into that other place, a pocket where he was punished for failing to feast to satisfaction.

Through extreme effort, the semblance of a man also known as Marius had recently managed out of that otherwhere, and for all of his trouble the terror was rewarded with a portal back to Planet Earth. That was the good news. The unfortunate underside of it was that Emplate had ended up not in a city with sufficient mutant provisions such as San Francisco proper, nor that Empire State epicenter of effervescence known as New York City which was similarly spurting with homo superior suppers.

Nope—the persistent 'Plate had been plunked down now into the much milder cultural climes of Cleveland suburbia. And as he picked himself up off the pavement and surveyed his serene surroundings, he sniffed and sniffed, wondering where he could filch his next preternatural nibble.

At this juncture the jaunting horror was so weakened, having barely emerged from the extradimensional door with his existence intact, that he was crawling along the cement, the maws in his hands mewling all the more for sustenance. Surely there must be someone around here who could serve him…serve as dinner. He felt hungry, but also felt homeless, much more than before, this continuous cantering between Earth and elsewhere wearing down on him. He was a long way from his origins with Monet, Claudette, and all the others of the St. Croix clan to which he once pertained.

Sighing as he skulked along the sidewalk, the 'Plate knew that this was Fate. It was what he deserved, after all, as he was doing a sort of time for indenturing his own sister; he made Miss "M" pay for earlier, crueler ministrations upon his person by forcing her into a scarlet skin and, as Penance, she provided him with sisterly subsistence for a long time to come. In time, though, this arrangement was aborted, and Marius found that he had to become more proactive in procuring victims for his victuals.

Now he was rounding the corner of another preplanned, programmed suburban square, the rascal ravenous, ready to keel over and crush back into that putrid pocket dimension once again. Perhaps that was what was best; he didn't seem to have a place on this planet in the final analysis, couldn't fit into any family schematic.

It was then, as Emplate was about to quit and exit into said pocket once more…he smelled her.

A little stripling of a lady, of Scandi origin—possibly Norwegian—white meat for the mutant munching.

With a start he set down on all fours, Marius scampering along on literally screaming, mouthed hands to the house which beckoned with its alluring human aroma.

Unceremoniously the 'Plate crashed through the front window of the abode, his frightening form tumbling onto the living room floor in a hunger-harrowed heap. For a moment, he remained inert, assessing any potential injuries.

Then the sultry smell of skin wafted through his facemasked features and he took again to his hindlegs with renewed fervor.

Barreling along on brazen limbs, the crafty St. Croix found the kitchen a few meters later and looked upon the languishing lady-lunch that awaited him there. Like him, she was punishingly put out, arms cast across the table's surface, her face down against the wooden top. In her splay across the spread the young woman writhed ever woozily, she reflecting back the same restlessness as his own, a dessert decked out in the seemingly same yearning as his own.

Emplate gazed back with growling gullet and eked out the closest thing to a grin that his ghastly countenance could conjure. Given that the girl looked willing, in the context on mutual mutant famishing that was apparent between them…this, too, was Fate.

In fact, then, it was time, Marius decided, for both he and this lady to sate respective appetites at long last.

Before the white meat's face could even free itself from the caress of the table's cedar surface, the gangly thing was already upon her, his mouthy meathooks already foisting themselves upon her flesh. The pleasure that the 'Plate had so achingly anticipated was flowing through him now, the creature cherishing the conversion back from monster to at least somewhat more of a man as the first few instants of his feed upon this female gratified him greatly.

"Uhmmm…Arhmmm…Mmmmm…" moaned the girl, as Marius worked his predatory practice of parasitism upon her.

…

…

It was only a few more seconds into this sucking, though, that something else began to overtake the seeming man. The comfort of consumption from a moment ago was supplanted swiftly with a newer vacuity, an even hollower sort of Hell within him that made him now hanker for nourishment more than he could ever remember in the wholeness of his wretched history.

And in the ensuing seconds, the nomming of the 'Plate was drowned out more and more by the moaning of the maiden upon whom he was heretofore having.

"Mmmmm…

"Mmmmm…

"_Mmmooorrrrrre…"_

It went from emphatic to ecstatic, then to almost orgasmic as the lady languished from being momentarily, deliciously dined upon to bathing in a majestic sort of delight.

The state of the 'Plate, in turn, changed sharply to chagrin as he realized that his meal was merrier than he would have preferred. The way she undulated underneath him, most fluidly and unsettlingly, was anything but satisfactorily submissive.

And this widening void in his gullet…it was the opposite effect to that of a stomach stapling...as if his intestines were unfolding to stretch out and accommodate for miles rather than meters. As much as he would munch, psychically, on this lady…he just couldn't get enough, couldn't get his fill.

It was just then that he realized that the girl he grasped had a hold on him as well, her ankles and feet bared under the table and rubbing hard against his own lower legs.

"Yesssssss…give it to me…eat…eat to your heart's content…eat your heart out…

"Emplate."

Did she know him? The slits of the Croix-creature's eyes narrowed above the mouth-mask. He had been wondering, in the back of his mind, why it seemed a bit easier to get out of the pocket dimension this time—and why Ohio on this jaunt, as well.

The mutant-masticator knew that there were some homo superiors greater than he, who could traipse through time and space with greater ease; Mojo the mountain of manure was one…another was the throwback from ancient Egypt, with all of his horsepeople—Death, War, Pestilence, Fa…

Oh, no.

"Rolfson Residence's been pretty lonesome of late, Mister 'Plate." Always anorexically thin enough to be a contortionist, basically, she tightened up, her legs snaking their way around the man's ankles in a more serpentine manner than any part of his own body could ever manage. She then turned to face him, eye to eye, for the first time, as said 'Plate felt his energy ebb all the more, despite his continuous psychic consumption of the maiden's marrow.

"Been looking for someone with the same interests…the same…_passions…_"

As the extradimensional enemy felt his essences emptying and emptying, despite his continuous efforts to consume, he made one desperate spurt of a bid, in an assay to regain control.

He slammed a mawed palm onto the cedar surface, the manual mouth scrawling out his first name with its serrated choppers.

He then pointed with frail fingers on the other hand. "Say it.

"Say…my name!"

The girl didn't even look back at what his digits dribbled out on the tabletop.

She looked him directly in the beady eye.

"…Marius."

A tiny bit of a boost surged within St. Croix, at the assertion of his identity. "Yes," he replied, at the young woman's seeming submission.

He then summoned the strength to draw a bit closer, as the girl kept shifting beneath him. "…Say it again."

A hint of a grin graced the girl's lips.

"…

"…_Marius."_

"_Yes."_

The way she uttered his name, the "AR" sound in it was more like "Larry" than the phonetic "Sorry" he always used…but he would let that slide.

One more time, in any case.

"…_Sssss…_

"_SsssAY IT!"_

Her eyes widened, and her thick-lipped grin grew into a voracious smile.

"…_MMMMMARIUS!"_

"_YESSSSS!"_

And then, having reached a juncture at which the man felt as if he had scammed some scintilla of satiation, he finally disengaged his arms and mouth from the lady. In turn, she let him go at the lower legs, knowing him harmless by now and by her accurate estimation; really, if anything, Miss Rolfson released him out of pity.

After several minutes of hearing his heaving and wheezing, she looked down at him as he did all he could to gather himself, on the floor of her dining room:

"So when's the ceremony?"

He marshaled up enough to return the query with a quizzical gaze.

She went on, unfazed. "Willy's sleeping in the back right now, but I'm sure he'd be down. I'm tellin' ya, single motherhood's really been getting old, so you're a godsend…or really, maybe sent from the other side, but that only makes it kismet all the more."

"Girl," piped the insidious interloper, "have you no idea what I've been doing these past few…"

"…seconds?" She stood up from the kitchen table chair, if anything even more energetic than ever for today.

"I think you wanted me to, like, say your name or something…

"But I just prompted a proposal from you three times, to enter into a union with both me and my son—to *_marry us*_ both—and you, for your part, answered 'Yes' in triplicate."

The Croix-creature's peepers widened as Miss Rolfson started toward him. "Really, my man…It's as easy as ABC…or rather EFG, considering that what you'll be marrying into is gonna be all about Emplate/Famine/Genocide. …I think we'll grow on you, precious little 'Plate."

And as the original gangsta of an Apocalpytic Horsewoman gained another step or three towards her predator-turned-prey, said object caterwauled within for a second…

…but then he fell still.

It wasn't such a bad arrangement, really, he thought to himself of a sudden. Sure, Marius was done playing the food-field…but there were certainly fates worse than settling down into this unfinishable symphony of symbiosis with the auburn-maned Autumn Rolfson. Between his incessant yen to consume, and in turn her ceaselessly-unfurling comestible carpet, they made quite the sinfully-synergistic pair.

And best of all for the 'Plate, he could retire from that photonegative rendition of a poorly-played Mighty Bomb Jack existence—wherein in his own particular case he was intermittently inserted into that pernicious, precarious pocket dimension for always having failed to be greedy enough.

Oh, yes…in this quiet and serene forthcoming Ohio life, Autumn would be Marius's literal down-hyphen-fall…but it would be the sweetest, eat-est surrender. He would live to serve her, as well as her son, but he would ever feed…and never get fed up with it.


End file.
